Young Writers Society

Another random scene? Yes, so again, I don't expect you guys to understand what's going on. This is the part that introduces Beatrix. My main problem with this is the dialogue in the second half of this piece.

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I plop down on the grass and let out a long sigh. You can come eat lunch with us if you want, Jacqueline asked, there’s always room for one more.

From up high, the world is a different place. The buildings look about the size of people, and the people look like ants. The sky still looks majestic, though; clear blue and more eternal than the sea.

“I don’t get it, God,” I say as I reach into my bag. “I’ve grown up my whole life thinking you were too busy for me, but you decide to notice me today?”

No answer. There never is with words.

I remove my camera instead of my lunch and bring it to my face. “Thank you, though, if you’re still listening.”

Through the viewfinder I see the foot of the hill and a piece of the sky. My finger slides to the shutter release button. Suddenly, my hands go numb and I drop the camera. The flash goes off as it falls into my lap.

*

Looking left then right, she draws the hood of her cloak over her eyes and slips out of the pavilion. Now her footing is quick; she dashes around the corner into a field of grass and trees. A circle of boulders lay in the center.

Relief shows through her half smile. She crawls on top of one of the boulders and unwraps her lunch.

“Pasta alla carbonara”—she breathes a sigh—“again.”

“Hey look,”—laughter—“it’s the tutu-wearing slut. Have you been selling yourself again, Beatrix? That’s all your good for, isn’t it?”

The girl plops down beside Beatrix, and crosses her leg. She gives Beatrix a pinch in the cheek.

“Aww, that’s a cute lunch you got there. Did teacher make it for you?” The other members of her posse cover their mouths and giggle; a few other boys from the junior division join them.

Beatrix lowers her head and covers her lunch with the plastic lid; she shakes her head and scoots away.

“Why are you leaving, Beatrix?” the girl coos. She lifts a leg and kicks Beatrix’s lunch onto the floor. “You don’t want to talk to your friend Alice?”

Beatrix shakes her head again and slides off the rock. “I don’t talk to bitches.”

Alice’s eyes widen; she grits her teeth and grabs the collar of a boy near here. “Nick! Do something about this!” she squeals.

“I can’t do anything unless you let go first, babe.” Alice loosens her grip and he pulls himself away. “Yo, Owen”—he snaps his fingers—“she’s all yours.”

A group of boys start to whistle with their hands behind their back and circle Beatrix. Beatrix grips her binders tighter and hurries.

“Not so fast, cutie.” Owen, a boy more like a mountain than a boy, grabs Beatrix’s hand and locks his fingers with hers; with the other, he knocks her binders to the floor.

Beatrix looks up at him, at those dried up, chapped, overused lips. The next thing she knows, those lips are violently moving across her neck, more course than she imagined. Owen pushes her to the floor and saddles himself on top of her. He forces a hand up her shirt.

“Way to go, man!” someone cheers in the background. “Tap that, slut!”

Beatrix clenches her hands and tries kicking him away; he’s too heavy. Instead, he presses his crotch on hers and licks her collarbone to keep her steady. Tears run down Beatrix’s cheek, stinging her face as they move.

“Not again,” she thinks, “not again.”

Owen holds Beatrix by the pigtail and brings her lips toward his. He kisses her neck, her chin, and then the corner of her lip—

“Get off of her, you molester!” Beatrix turns her head and sees a girl from the high school division, the one she lent her boots to, throwing a container of her lunch at Owen. Beatrix rolls away as Owen gets hit straight in the face; the sauce and chicken sink in his pointy hairdo. “Eat that, you asshole!”

Aaralyn grabs the awestruck Beatrix and drags her to the edge of the fence.

“You-you—“

Aaralyn puts a finger to Beatrix lips, points to the angry gang of teenagers behind them, and says: “No need to thank me, just run.” She pulls Beatrix onto her feet and the two throw themselves over the fence and into the forest.

*

From above, someone was watching. The commander presses his head against the window, lost in another world. Asha notices his solemn expression and confronts him.

“What are you looking at, Kaleb?”

Kaleb leaves the window, buries his hands in his pockets, and walks back to the center of the room.

“Nothing,” he says and sits down beside Jakoba.

Asha looks through the window and scowls. Outside, a girl with jet-black hair runs to the forest with her pink-headed companion.

“That tramp.”